If I Didn't Care
by WillowDryad
Summary: Even on Sweethearts' Day, the High King's time is not his own. A Valentine's Day story. Golden Age.


**Disclaimer: Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me. **

IF I DIDN'T CARE

How lovely it was.

Though Linnet had been to many grand balls in her own Deerfield and even in King Lune's palace at Anvard, Archenland had no such thing as Sweethearts' Day. But the Kings and Queens of Narnia had definitely brought their own traditions from that scarce-remembered Other Place from whence they had come. Susan and Lucy both had new gowns made for the occasion, and they had insisted that Linnet do likewise. Now Linnet was glad she had agreed. It would not do to appear in the midst of such splendor in anything but her best.

The Great Hall of Cair Paravel blazed with torches and the roaring, dancing hearth fire. Swags of evergreen boughs decorated the mantel and the walls, sparkling with little red winterberries, ropes of pearls and flurries of tiny lace flowers made by Queen Susan and a specially selected group of her ladies-in-waiting, mostly Raccoons and Otters. For, as Susan had confided, the Poodles and the Peahens were abominably bad at tatting.

The long tables, festooned with the same evergreens, groaned with their rich burden of food and drink, the succulent aroma teasing her nose and making her mouth water. The silver and gold and crystal of the place settings sparkled in the soft glow of the candelabras, as did the gold-and-gem-bedecked revelers. Even at Anvard, Linnet had never seen such a gathering of fine lords and ladies. Some of these were human, but most of them were not.

In the time since she had come to Narnia, she had gotten used to being around Satyrs and Nymphs and Gryphons and talking Animals and all the other creatures that were not native to Archenland, but tonight they were more amazing than usual, for they, too, were at their best, from the tiny Mice, each wearing a jaunty feather, to the Centaurs in their red tunics with gold braid and the great Bruins in their embroidered vests and velvet caps. Naiads in their gowns that shimmered like mother of pearl and Dryads with rustling, leafy locks and dresses that were the colors of fall leaves talked with richly plumed Eagles and Fauns with bright scarves and gold-tipped horns. But, though she had looked all around the room, she had not yet seen–

"Looking for someone, Lady Linnet?"

His voice was little more than a low murmur over the chatter and laughter that filled the Great Hall, but it immediately brought a flutter to her heart and the warm blood to her face.

She turned and made her deepest curtsy. "Your Majesty."

"My Lady." Peter bowed. "I am certain I am not the first to tell you so, but you look very beautiful tonight."

She crushed the aquamarine velvet of her skirts more tightly in her hands, and her lashes swept to her hot cheeks.

A smile crinkled the corners of his eyes, and she realized they were just that same shade of aquamarine, his eyes and his tawny hair perfectly set off by the deep blue and rich gold of his tunic. She wanted to tell him how beautiful _he_ looked, but she dared not speak the thought aloud.

"You _are_ the first, Lord King. I thank you."

"Then," he confided as he took her arm, "I can only surmise that every man at the ball is either addled or blind."

She laughed softly. "Or perhaps you are."

"My brother assures me of it, Lady, but I carry on as best I'm able." Again there was a touch of a smile in his eyes. "Now, if you will do me the honor, I believe the first dance–"

"I beg your pardon, High King, Lady Linnet." The Faun Tumnus bowed before them, looking almost distraught to have interrupted. "But the Ambassador from Calormen and his family have arrived. It would be a grave insult if you do not greet them personally."

Peter sighed and kissed Linnet's hand. "Will you pardon me, My Lady?"

She curtsied and tried not to pout. "Of course, Lord King."

She spent the next little while chatting with a Leopard about her cubs and a pair of well-groomed Badgers about the state of trade with Galma. As she did, she tried not to watch Peter dancing with the lithe, onyx-eyed daughter of the Ambassador, tried not to imagine she was holding the High King just a shade too tightly, and struggled (successfully) against the urge to go snatch the black-haired minx baldheaded. She was just refusing a Satyr's invitation to waltz when Peter returned to her side.

"Forgive me, Lady, for taking so long. Sometimes my duties keep me from more pleasant pastimes. Now, will you honor me with this dance?"

By the end of the night, he had asked her to dance seven times. They had actually danced three of those times. Once all the way to the end of the song. She knew already that the Sovereigns had many subjects making requests of them and that Peter was especially reluctant to refuse anyone anything he was reasonably able to grant. But perhaps she had been mistaken about his feelings for her all along. Perhaps he was only being polite and did not truly wish–

"I am sorry, Lady Linnet," he said as he came up beside her. "It seems I have had more than the usual demands upon my time this evening."

She managed a wan smile. "I know you have much to see to, My Lord King. I thank you for the time you granted me, but it seems the ball is over."

He shifted on his feet. Maybe he just wanted an excuse to go back to the Ambassador's daughter.

"I, uh . . . may I see you back to your chamber, My Lady? Or perhaps–"

"I see Ada is waiting for me." Not meeting his eyes, she curtsied. "Good evening."

She scurried out into the corridor and up the stairs, practically dragging her maid along with her, determined to reach the privacy of her chamber before she shamed herself with tears.

OOOOO

In just her shift and dressing gown (and a shawl because Ada insisted), Linnet sat on her balcony overlooking the palace garden. It was dark now, of course, cold and utterly still except for the near-silent pad of the Cheetah on guard and the high chatter of a pair of Bats keeping watch from the top of the tallest oak, but she really didn't notice them unless they laughed.

She crossed her arms on the marble railing and pillowed her head on them. Why hadn't Peter wanted to dance with her? Surely she was a better dancer than his Tiger, Bast. Maybe, since the danger and excitement that had brought them together was long over, he had merely lost interest. Oh, he had been very sweet, to be sure. Very polite and perfectly proper, but he was that way with everyone. She had loved him for such a long time, maybe she had only imagined he loved her in return. Maybe–

She looked up, startled as the Bats broke off their conversation and swooped down into the garden. Then she thought she heard one of them giggle, and they both resumed their posts. Before she could call to them and find out what was happening, she heard something rustling in the shrubbery below her window. Someone whispered something, and for a moment everything was still. Then, soft but sweet and pure, came the words of a song, a song unlike any she had ever heard in Archenland or in Narnia.

If I didn't care more than words can say

If I didn't care would I feel this way?

She caught her breath. That was Peter. She could hardly believe it, but he was singing for her. _To _her_._ Then, to her amazement, another voice joined his, low and silvery, the two blending together in perfect harmony.

If this isn't love then why do I thrill?

And what makes my head go 'round and 'round

While my heart stands still?

She smiled through her tears. Who could it be but his brother, King Edmund? And how in the world had Peter gotten him to join him in so deeply romantic a gesture?

If I didn't care would it be the same?

Would my ev'ry prayer begin and end with just your name?

And would I be sure that this is love beyond compare?

Would all this be true if I didn't care for you?

The song ended and, for a moment, there was perfect silence.

"You owe me, Peter," she heard Edmund grumble, and then with an almost-soundless step, he was gone.

"Peter," she whispered when she heard nothing more. "Peter?"

For what seemed eternity, there was no reply, and then there was once more the rustle of leaves below, the swaying of branches, the scrape of boots on stone.

"Linnet."

Peter pulled himself up, clinging to the balcony railing with his hands, his feet braced in the vines that grew up the wall.

"Linnet," he repeated, his eyes warm and seeking hers.

She leaned down and put her hand over his. "Oh, Peter, how very sweet. I have never heard a song like that before. Is it Narnian?"

He grinned a little. "It is something they used to sing in that place we came from. Actually, it was one of Susan's favorites, and she was the one who suggested it. It took Edmund and me and the girls a while to remember the words properly, it's been so long. Otherwise I would have been here well before now."

"It was lovely." She squeezed his hand. "Your sisters told me before that you and King Edmund sang like angels but I shouldn't ever expect to hear. Why is that? You sing beautifully."

"We used to sing at our parish church, but well . . . " He shrugged a little, and even in the darkness she could see a tinge of color in his face. "We're meant to be kings, not minstrels."

She laughed. "That sounds like something your brother would say."

"It is. And if you mention any of this to anyone, especially to Edmund, I daresay you'll never hear him sing again."

Again she laughed, and in spite of herself, tears sprang to her eyes.

Concern touched his face. "What is it, Lady? What have I done?"

"You have–" She sniffled and smiled again. "You have made me very happy, My Lord."

"It was nothing," he murmured. "I just wanted you to know– I mean, I'm sorry I let everything get in the way tonight and didn't spend as much time with you as I wanted to. I just didn't want you to think, well, that I didn't care."

She used her free hand to caress his cheek, and he quickly turned his head to press a tender kiss against it. His breath was warm against her skin, his lips soft and inviting, and before she could stop herself, she was leaning over the marble railing. He pulled himself up as far as he could, meeting her halfway, his lips touching hers, brief and urgent, before he pulled back.

"Goodnight, Lady," he said, his voice low and husky in the darkness. "My sweetheart."

Then, with a rustle of branches and the swift patter of boots on stone, he was gone.

She sighed, smiling up at the moon as the words of his song whispered again to her heart. Then, hearing another tiny giggle from the top of the oak, she bid the Bats goodnight.

**Author's Note: "If I Didn't Care" was written by Jack Lawrence in 1939. Happy Sweethearts' Day!**

**********P. S. Lady Alambiel is the one who came up with the idea of Sweethearts' Day, thinking that since the Narnians had no St. Valentine, the day of love would need another name, as explained in her story "Will You Be My Sweetheart?." She has graciously allowed me to use the tradition in my stories, too. Thank you, Lady A!**


End file.
